


Through it all

by biteinsane



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, One-Shots, fiddauthor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biteinsane/pseuds/biteinsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of short one-shots of Fiddauthor. All under 1000 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't get clean

**Author's Note:**

> Based off how my hands are during the winter cause I wash them too much but are still covered in ink.
> 
> Sort of.

“They’ll never be clean.” Ford ran his hands through the water and soap for the 5th time in the last 2 mins. “I can still feel it.” He looked down at his shaking hands. “Why…why why why why.” He started yelling at himself trying to get them washed again.

“Stanford? Darlin’? You in here?” Fiddleford knocked on the door before entering the bathroom.

Ford didn’t look up and kept on scrubbing his hands raw.

“Darlin’,” Fidds gently grabbed Ford’s hands and turned off the water. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Ford was a bit startled. “I-I-“ He pulled his hands from the other man’s grip. “No, no, it’s fine…I-I’m fine. I’m just…” He looks down at his hands rubbing them together. “They’re dirty…they are...was…I can’t…”

“Shhhh.” Finds pulled Ford’s hand toward him. “It’s okay.”

“I can feel it, Fiddleford,” Ford said in a panic. “My hands…I can’t get them clean.”

“It’s just all the sweat and dirt, Stanford, you’re okay. You’re gonna make your hands bleed with the washing you were doing.” Finds patted Ford’s hands gently. “And you have ink forever imbedded on your fingertips, how is it that sweat gets to you?”

“I know, I know, “ Ford looked down whispering. “But it’s different with ink. I’m so use to seeing ink under my nails and running along the cracks in my skin. It’s grounding.”

“You need some sleep Ford,” Fidds lightly tugged Ford from the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Ford nodded letting the other man pull him along through the house.


	2. We can start over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old men Fiddauthor of starting over after being apart for all those years.
> 
> A thought I had while walking from work.

Fiddleford was just about to make his way out of the Shack when a voice stopped him.

“Fiddleford, I can’t thank you enough for talking with Stanley,” Ford stood in the doorway of the kitchen rubbing his arms. “About everything…I wouldn’t have known what to do if the kids didn’t suggest getting you…”

“Twas nothing, Stanferd,” the older man waved him off, “after what those kiddies did for me this summer, this is the least I could do! It helps us both in the end too.”

“Yeah…um, would you like a drink before you leave?”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer, thank ya kindly.” 

Ford gestured toward the table as Fiddleford walked pass him. The old man pulled out a chair and curled himself up on it, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface as he watched the other grab cups from the cabinet. “We just have juice and I promise it’s not Mabel Juice if you ever had the chance encounter with it which I don’t suggest.”

Fiddleford snickered. “Can’t say ‘have tried any but I’ll take your word fer it. Juice is fine.”

“Trust me, my encounter with it was both enthralling and terrifying. I would not wish it upon anyone.” Ford laughed as he poured the liquid into the cups and taking a seat across from Fiddleford. He passed the cup over to the other man already starting drinking from his own.

They sat in silence for a few minutes just enjoying each others’ presence.

“I know I said it before Fiddleford, but I am truly sorry,” Ford broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have just let you walk out after what you saw and even if I did, I should have tried to find you. Made sure you were alright but my head was so far up my ass that I…”

“Stanferd, it’s alright, I forgive ya.” Fiddleford reached out to pat Ford’s hand. “We were both different people those 30 years ago and we changed fer the better. Just the fact that me and Tater Tot are on speaking terms again proves it.”

Ford gave out a weak laugh. “Yeah, that is true.”

“So no beatin’ yerself over something you did in the past.” The old man drank the last of his juice placing the cup gently on the table. “If I can forgive my past self, so can you.” He gave a little nod.

“I missed your little speeches.”

“Well we still got some years left, yer gonna get a whole lot more of ‘em.”

Ford laughed. “I’m not sure if I am excited or bothered by that.”

He crossed his arms trying to look angry but he couldn’t keep it up for long and Fiddleford started chuckling. 

“We got 30 years to get caught up on,” Ford said with a smile. 

“And some…” Fiddledford’s voice trailed off.

“Everything alright buddy?” Ford’s own voice was filled with concern when he saw the other man’s shoulders slump down.

“’m alright, I just…” He took a breath taking off his hat and placing it on the top. “I wanna start this all over.”

“Start…Over?”

“I’ve been slowly ‘membering things, not much but bits and pieces of when I was a youngin.” He started quietly. “I remember a bit of us back then too…”

“I…see…how much do you remember?”

“Probably a lot more than you wish me to remember.”

Ford covered his mouth and looked away. His cheeks turning a slight pink.

Fiddleford gave a small laugh reaching out to pat Ford’s hand. “I don’t mean anything bad by it.” He took the other man’s hand in his two boney ones rubbing his thumb in circles. “Like I said, we are both different people then and I have so much I have to remember…and I want to start over.”

Ford didn’t turn his head toward the other but looked at him, not moving either hand.

“We can start over.”

Ford put his other hand on top of Fiddleford’s and gave a small smile. “I would like that. I would like that a lot.”


	3. I'm not that strong!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Based off this thing I drew with Bill messing with Ford.](http://biteinsane.tumblr.com/post/146176248515/im-not-that-strong-my-brain-draw-more-ford)
> 
> Had this written for awhile actually. Might as well put it up now.

Bill finally left Stanford on his own.

He was still chained by his neck to the wall but he was alone. He was so tired, in pain, and covered in what he thinks is wine. What he hopes is only wine.

Ford reached up to run a hand through his hair. It was still wet from the liquid that Bill poured on him before leaving the room to go entertain his minions. _Let the genius stew in his own thoughts,_ Bill had said.

But the older man was too tired to even do that. For the first time in over 30 years, his mind was blank and he couldn't have been happier. In his state, Stanford knows it would only be guilt that ran through his head. He feels like he should be filled with guilt but he was too tired to even trying to focus on what guilty thoughts he would have. He looked down at his hand seeing a bit of red on the tips of his fingers.

He sighed as he wiped them on his sweater. He's been knocked around so many times, the old man is surprised there isn't more blood coming from his head. With his sleeve he wiped at his nose to get the blood he knew was there and rested his head against the cold wall. This moment of peace wasn't going to last but oh how much Ford wanted it to last forever.

"Just a bit longer..." He whispered.

~ ~

Ford woke with a start. He didn't even know he fell asleep but he didn't remember any nightmares or even dreams. Did Bill really leave him alone? How long was he out? He was feeling uneasy as he searched around frantically even getting to his feet.

The chain was still around his neck and the ones around his wrists were back but everything else was the same. The room was practically empty like it was before. He ran his hands down his face hearing the chains click against each other. Bill really did leave him to his own thoughts, he doesn't remember the demon ever leaving him alone this long.

Something was wrong.

There was a click that sounded like an unlocking of a door and Ford whipped his head to find the source.

A wooden door was in the middle of the room, not even on a wall just in the center of the room. There was a window but it was covered with blinds. It almost looked like the door back at the house and he could see a shadow behind it.

The door slowly opened and Ford held his breath. He didn't even notice the figure walk into the room when the other side of the door looked like he was looking out from his house. Same porch. Same woods. It was all the same.

He didn't notice the figure got closer to him until he felt a hand brush hair from his forehead. When he looked up, Ford quickly rushed back.

It was Fiddleford. Fiddleford was in the room. Fiddleford came through the door. Fiddleford, looking the same as the day he left the project, was in front of Ford.

Ford's back hit the wall as he stared in horror. "No..."

"Stanford? What's wrong?" The Fiddleford asked. There was concern in the tone. It took a step toward Ford but not close enough to touch him. It still stayed back just like Fiddleford would always do when he startled the scientist without meaning to.

Ford felt tears running down his cheeks. "B-Bill...stop..." He brought his hands to his face. "P-Please!"

"Darlin' what's wrong?" The Fiddleford gently pulled Ford's hands away from his face. "What happened?"

"No, no!" The tears started dripping off his chin to the floor. He tried to look anywhere but at the Fiddleford's face.

But he kept looking back at the concern in the other man's eyes. Just pure concern that Ford hasn't seen in such a long time. He clenched his jaw pulling weakly at his hands still in Fiddleford's grip. "P-Please..." He pleaded quietly. "I...I can't...Go..."

"I'm not gonna go anywhere, Stanford." He brushed the hair from Ford's forehead again before giving it a kiss. "It's okay."

"I'm not that strong!" He cried burying his face into Fiddleford's shoulder. He felt arms wrap around him rubbing his back whispering promises that it was okay but it was all a lie.


	4. Is...Is that you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Fiddauthor again.
> 
> Now with it based off my habit of not eating/forgetting to eat! Don't be me kids. It's a horrible habit stemmed from not being able to eat when stressed and that ain't as wonderful as it sounds. I really only ate through my college days cause someone was there to drag me to get food.

There was a quiet grumble that made Fiddleford jump. He had dealt with too many creatures that growled and grunted in the last week to want to deal with any more. He was still on edge from just walking into Gnomes trying to steal food...for the second time...today.

The engineer looked around but it was only Stanford and himself in the study. Ford was scribbling in that journal of his while Fiddleford tapped away at a keyboard he was testing out. The room was bright enough that Fidds would have seen something if there was anything. Hopefully it wasn't another ghost thing again. He should have never let Ford bring a cursed vase into the house.  _The man probably would have found a way to bring it in even if he did say no._

Then the noise happened again and Ford didn't even look up.

"Ford? Ford!" Fiddleford hissed trying to nudge Ford.

"Hm?" Ford didn't even look up from his journal.

"I think something might be in-" he noticed Ford's hands. Something was off.

"Yes?" Ford finally looked up when he realized Fidds wasn't going to finish his sentence.

Fiddleford grabbed one of the six-fingered hands with a 'HEY' in protest. He tried to keep the hand still even with Ford pulling to get free.

They were...shaking? Slightly, but they were shaking.

"Fidds, come on. Let me go and finish what you were saying!" Ford used his other hand to grab at Fidds' hands.

"Stanford, when was the last time you ate?" Fidds still looked over Ford's hands.

"What?"

"You haven't eaten since yesterday." He brought the other's hand to his forehead. "Oh god, what am I am going to do with you."

"Fidds, I am perfectly fine. I know I ate something a few hours ago."

"Coffee doesn't count, darlin'."

"I wasn't talking about coffee,  _dear,_ " he spat out the last word rolling his eyes. Ford did give it a thought though. When was the last time he ate? What did he even eat? Ford knows he had something to eat sometime in the morning, he had to. 

His stomach grumbled and he could swear he felt his stomach acid eating away at him. 

"You can't remember." The statement broke him from his thoughts. "Ford, you can't keep doing that, it ain't healthy."

"I am fine, Fidds, really! I don't feel hungry. My stomach is probably just acting up." Ford shrugged.

"Stanford, I have seen you go days without eating and you can still run around like a chicken with its head cut off." The other man stood up making Ford do the same with his grip still tight. "We are getting food in you before I watch you collapse again from neglecting basic human needs."

Ford groaned but let himself be dragged out of the room.


	5. And he laughed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College Buddies who are up too late and laugh about laughing.

Stanford hasn't heard a laugh like Fiddleford's in a long time. It wasn't that loud but it was obnoxious and filled with life.

Colors would become just a bit brighter.

The whole room seemed to shine with sunlight.

And Ford didn't mind that all this sounded like a cliche romance movie he was forced to watch when he was younger.

Everything just ended up being a little bit funny 2 in the morning so he laughed right along. Saying he was laughing at Fiddleford's laugh and maybe that was true.

After so many sleepless nights, you just end up laughing using each other for balance as to not fall off the bed. Papers of essays and class notes already fallen to the floor. Someone yelling from a room over, banging on the wall for them to shut up. The two shushing each other still in slight giggles. 

Ford ended up with his head on Fiddleford's shoulder, both still shaking from laughter and trying not to start up again. Fiddleford kept Ford from falling with an arm around his shoulders trying even harder not to laugh at the fact that he forgot why he started laughing.

It was 2 in the morning and Ford could be in some sort of love.

And he was okay with it being a cliche.


End file.
